Looking Holds the Key
by asteristar
Summary: Rory won't look at Finn anymore. And he's determined to find out why. RoryFinn Oneshot


Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't own any of this. Just the words and the order they're in.

A/N: This is my second Gilmore Girls fic, and it's a oneshot about Finn and Rory. Improbable, yes, I know, but I think they're fun to write. This story can take place almost anytime after Rory's sophomore year. I don't specify, so choose when you will.

**Looking Holds the Key**

She won't look at him anymore. It's been a long time since she's really looked at him. He raises his eyebrows, surprised that a mind of such constant inebriation would remember something like that.

But it's effortless to remember if she's looked at him or not, because her eyes are not easily forgotten. And he hasn't really seen them in what seems like forever. Forever's long time to go without seeing something, he muses.

Finn reaches out to grab the flask in front of him, but the image of her stays his hand, and as cheesy as it sounds, he stops just for her. He's angry with himself, not only for being eligible for the next chick flick, what with all his cliché pining and moping, but also for his unwillingness to push her. He knows that with any other girl, he would feel comfortable chasing her. But she's not any other girl.

He reaches for the flask again, but once again her face comes to mind, and he settles back into his chair. He'll be sober for class tomorrow – a change he's not sure he welcomes. She likes her guys sober, doesn't she? But what exactly defines sober? Is it his definition (three shots and two martinis) or hers (no alcohol at all)? He decides on a compromise – one shot and one martini – and writes it down on the back of his hand.

Tonight alone, he's downed an entire flask and is just beginning his second. In such a drunken state, he resolves to go over to her dorm and ask her just why she chooses never to meet his gaze. It takes him a while to get to the door, but soon, he's walking in a strait line and is making his way toward the dorm of one Rory Gilmore.

He stumbles up the stairs and knocks rather loudly on the wall next to the door. Upon realizing his lack of aim, he knocks with both fists, trying to improve his chances, and it works. He hears feet shuffle to the door, and his wavering vision makes out a slumped figure standing in the doorway clutching the doorframe for support.

"Got a moment?" he asks in a voice that sounds to perky to be his own.

She groans. "Finn! It's three in the morning!"

He stops short in his attempt to enter the dorm. "Did I wake Paris?" he asks in a horrified whisper.

"No," she tells him, and he is relieved. "She's spending the night at Doyle's." Finn grimaced.

"Rory!" he cries, trying to erase his mind. She laughs at him, and then there's a silence between them. She's leaning on the doorframe, he's half in and half out of the room.

"You're not leaving, are you?" she asks finally, in an exasperated tone. He grins and shakes his head. With a sigh, she grabs his hand and leads him, collapsing on the couch and dragging him with her. She's curled up against the arm of the couch, while he's sprawled across the other half, and her. She's used to this invasion of space, and laughs softly. She catches hold of his hand, twisting it awkwardly to read what he's written.

"Finn, you defined 'sober'?" He nods happily. "Is this your sober or my sober?"

He shifts suddenly so that he's facing her in a contorted fashion and grins widely. "It's a compromise, my dear. That's the beauty of it!"

She laughs and playfully smacks his shoulder. He returns the gesture, and she knows that there's a glint in his eyes, even though she's not looking. She doesn't take the bait, however, and remains motionless, suddenly very occupied with her fingernails.

"Now or never," he mutters, knowing himself to be terribly cliché. She glances over at him questioningly and he shrugs it off. But he's not finished.

"Rory, love, is there any particular reason you feel compelled not to look at me anymore?" he asks in his casual way.

She smiles nervously. "What?" He doesn't answer, because he knows she heard him.

Annoyed and anxious, she tosses her hair behind her and stares at him, her own eyes meeting his. And now she knows why she's been avoiding this. Because looking holds the key. She's looked. And now she sees.

He leans forward, smiling as she does the same. Their lips meet, and she understands that she's found everything she's ever lost.

As he continues to kiss her, he can't help but think that this is a cliché ending for a cliché night. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

**_End_ **


End file.
